


Gravitation

by Desdemon



Category: Drake & Josh
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdemon/pseuds/Desdemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Craig figures out what keeps him in orbit around Eric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravitation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hua](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hua).



> Thanks to theo_winterwood for beta-type things and her support during a wild canon hunt!

Eric pulled over and threw the car into park. "Get out, Craig!"

"What?" Craig clutched at the arm of his seat. "No!"

"No, Craig!" Eric pointed to the passenger-side door, shaking his head in tight-lipped fury. "You know what happens to anti-Stratfordians in my car!"

"I was just playing the devil's advocate, _Eric!_ " Craig said, glaring. "It was just an intellectual -"

"Craig, all of the critics agree that Baconianism amounts to nothing but a..." Eric hands flailed wildly as he tried to find the right words. "...a puffed-up conspiracy theory!"

"You are going to hit me with your keys!" Craig yelled, shielding his head.

"How dare you bring conspiracy into my car?" Eric yelled back. "Get it out! Out!" He pointed to the door again.

Craig scrambled for the door handle. "You know, don't come crying to me the next time you want to discuss Shakespearean authorship theories," he snapped, climbing out of the car. He leaned back down for his parting shot - "I _won't_ be interested!" - and slammed the door with finality. Eric locked the doors and shifted gears.

Craig took a breath and shouted, "Pick me up tomorrow?"

Eric flicked his lights in assent as he drove away.

Craig sighed, and realized, gradually, that he was cold. He crossed his arms. Eric knew that Craig didn't subscribe to Baconianism. It wasn't even the most convincing of the alternative authorship theories, none of which could even really be entertained with any kind of scholarly conscience, of which, _duh_ , both of them had lots. Was it Craig's fault that he enjoyed exploring viewpoints different than his own? Why did Eric refuse to think outside the literary box? And why, of all places, had Eric had to bring Craig home?

He turned around and looked at his house. The living room lights were on, and he could see his mother watching infomercials on the television. He sighed again, and prepared to explain why he was sleeping at home for the first night all week.

Eric wasn't mad the next morning when he picked Craig up before school - "I forgive you. I realized that our friendship is more important than any academic gaffe of yours" - but he still refused to let Craig into the car without swearing never to mention Francis Bacon ever again. Craig made it until Chemistry, when Eric criticized his perfectly effective measuring technique, and Craig ended up saying loudly, "Bacon, Bacon, Bacon, Bacon, Bacon," while Eric put his hands over his ears until Drake called, "Hey, you guys have bacon over there?"

Craig got sent to the office for having food in class. Ejected into the hallway after his unsuccessful attempts to convince Mrs. Hafer that no, he had not eaten the bacon to hide it, there had never been any bacon, she could smell his breath if she wanted to, and staring dismally down at his detention slip, he heard sniggering. He looked up to see some of the burnouts, who hadn't seen him yet.

"Yeah, and that other one," one of them said, the big kid with the prematurely receding hairline. "Eric."

"Yeah, that guy's a _douche_ ," said the skinny one with lanky hair. "Doesn't he wear, like, a pocket protector?"

 _Only when he's wearing his lab coat_ , Craig thought, and his heart started to pound.. This wasn't right - these guys, out here, talking about -

"And with the pants that go up to the waist," said the shorter one. "And the girl glasses."

Craig's mouth fell open. "H-" he started, barely audible even to himself.

They were all laughing, arms up against their mouths to muffle the sound.

"H-Hey," Craig said, louder.

They stopped laughing and looked over at him almost as one, almost guiltily, as if they'd thought he was a teacher.

"Oh, look who it is," said the skinny one, somewhere between relieved and malicious. "It's Eric's _boyfriend_. You got a problem, Nancy?"

"You shouldn't be talking about Eric that way," Craig said, when he could make his throat work.

"Says who, egghead?" the short one shot back. The others laughed once, meanly.

"He doesn't wear a pocket protector," Craig said in a rush, voice pitched higher than he'd expected it to be. "Most of the time. And his glasses are - are gender-nonspecific."

"I'll gender-nonspecific you if you don't shut up," the big one growled, leaving the group to menace Craig at a closer proximity. Craig stepped backwards, blindly feeling for the principal's door, a locker, any measure of safety. The big one peered down at his hand. "What's that, a detention slip, dorkwad?" He smiled widely at Craig. "Guess we'll see you there. We can talk about this the way I know how to have conversations."

Which is how Craig found himself spending detention in the dumpster behind the school, which he knew from experience was a fairly bully-proof hiding spot. He sat and ate his afternoon snack, a banana for the potassium and the B6, and celery because his mother insisted it would stave off nervous exhaustion, until his watch beeped and he could climb out and start the trek to Josh and Drake's house, where he and Eric were expected at a Kung Fu Friday.

"Do you ever get the feeling that your life revolves around someone else?" Craig asked Drake's little sister, half an hour early to the party.

She squinched her eyebrows at him like she couldn't really believe he was addressing her, and said flatly, "Ask Josh." She gathered up her things, which seemed to consist of Krazy Glue and someone's shoes, and relocated to somewhere farther away from Craig.

Craig blinked, and then thought about it. Josh was arranging hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen, humming a song from _The Sound of Music_.

"Are those mini-quiches?" Craig asked, somewhat bewildered by the array. There were also cream cheese pinwheels and tea sandwiches of some kind.

Josh shrugged. "Just a little something I whipped up," he said, looking down at his handiwork, clearly pleased with himself. Then he looked back up at Craig. "Hey, where's Eric?"

Craig's heart sank. "We're traveling separately this evening," he said, trying for disinterested.

Josh cocked his head. "Then how did you get here? You don't have a car."

"I walked," Craig said, adding, "Studies show that walking for even a half an hour a day can improve your cardiovascular system tremendously, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Josh said, and Craig hoped that was his convinced voice.

"So Josh," Craig said quickly. "I was wondering if I could ask you a question."

"Ask away," Josh said, running over as the oven buzzed to pull out yet another tray of quiches, carefully placing them on the counter with the aid of ruffly potholders.

Craig took a deep breath and asked him what he'd asked Megan.

Josh stared at Craig. "Wha... what are you implying?" he asked, with a tremulous note in his voice. "You talking about Drake? You think my life revolves around Drake?" He tried to laugh. "My life does not revolve around Drake," he said, but it was somewhat choked.

"Oh, I wasn't -" Craig tried to say, but just then Drake came skidding into the room.

"Josh, I need your help," he said breathlessly. "I'm IMing with this _hot_ girl - oh hey, Eric," he added to Craig, "who's into history, who somehow thinks I know stuff about the American Revolution." He furrowed his brows with a grin like, _crazy, right?_

"Did you _tell_ her that?" Josh asked.

"Yes," Drake said instantly. He spread his arms and wiggled his fingers. "Be my hands, bro."

"No! Absolutely not!" Josh turned pointedly back to his tray of mini-quiches. "You want to sound so smart, look it up on Wikipedia!"

"You're the one who's always telling me that the internet isn't an 'accurate source of information' and whatever!"

"For _papers_ for _school_ , yeah, it's not, Drake," Josh said, rolling his eyes. "For instant messaging, I think you'll be fine." He savagely stabbed a knife into the edge of a quiche mold, rattling the tray as he tried to dig it out.

Drake put his hands to his head and was silent for a second. "I'll - I'll do your laundry for a month!" he said finally, looking up.

Josh whipped around. "Do you mean _your_ laundry, which _I_ already do?"

"Yeah, that," Drake said earnestly. He clasped his hands together and waited.

At last Josh's shoulders slumped. "Deal," he said, and put the knife down so he could trudge down the hallway.

Drake looked around the room before he left. "Where's Craig?"

" _I'm_ Craig," Craig reminded him for what had to be the millionth time.

Drake shrugged uncaringly and darted down the hall after Josh.

Craig stared at where they'd gone and thought that he must have gotten some kind of answer to his question just then - his real question - _what do you do?_ \- but he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

He thought about it through all of Five Shaolin Masters, where he was squished between Eric and Josh because Drake refused to sit next to either Eric or Craig and Eric liked to sit on the end, and he thought about it during the car ride to Eric's house, even while his mouth was arguing with Eric about the relative merits of 16mm and 35mm. He thought about it while he and Eric did their homework for Monday, and when Eric asked, "Can I borrow your pen? Mine is out of ink," he sort of snapped and shouted, "Why do you always have to -" before he could stop himself.

Eric stared. Craig tried to collect himself. "Or I could get another pen," Eric offered tentatively.

"No, it's not - " Craig let out a breath and ran his hands down his vest. "It's not - why did you have to take me home?" He hadn't even known he was going to ask that, so the ensuing silence was doubly as surprised.

"You know I hate it there," Craig said finally. "All my mom ever talks about is how she wants to move, and she never turns off the television, and I just - I do it on purpose, you know? That's the answer. I do it on purpose because I want to be _here_."

Eric was hopelessly trying to follow him. "I want you to be here, too. You're my best friend."

Craig shook his head. "You're more than that. Everything I do is about you. But it's okay," he said hurriedly, because Eric was starting to frown. "Because I know what to do now."

"Well, I have to say," Eric said somewhat fussily, "I'm glad one of us does, because I have no idea what the heck you're talking about."

"That's because you never think outside the box," Craig said, smiling slightly, and then he leaned over the desk and kissed Eric, right on the mouth.

After a moment, Eric pulled back and straightened his glasses. "Really?" he said, a little squeakily. He cleared his throat. "I mean - really?"

Craig nodded, biting his lip.

Eric could barely find the words. "This - why didn't we do this sooner?"

"I don't know!" Craig said, and then he couldn't stop smiling, and kissing Eric again, and he really didn't know why he had taken so long to bring them into closer orbit.


End file.
